


Shameless

by pikalex88



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, PWP, it is really just indulgent smut, with a bit of tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikalex88/pseuds/pikalex88
Summary: Self-indulgent smut with feelings that I wrote in Visual Studio Code at 5 AM
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 156





	Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> (Update: There is now ART inspired by this fic from the wonderful coolant!! Linked at the bottom!)

You dream, for once, of something good. The details are already blurred as you wake, dripping watercolours of orange and pink, but it's close enough to what your waking mind has conjured lately that you can fill in the blanks comfortably. Kim. Lieutenant Kitsuragi, so  _ devastatingly  _ cool, so collected, so untouchable - but oh in your head, how you wish to touch. 

His companionship and admiration for you in your waking hours are precious beyond measure, not worth trading for anything - but you've let yourself imagine what it would be like to strip off the layers of professional distance. To let him judge you on the level of soul, of body. What it would be like to be desired, to be able to be the cause of some crack in that legendary composure.

He deserves something good, to feel good, to feel better than he lets himself feel, and god you're not good but he looks at you like you are and you want so desperately to give him something in return.

It's become something of an obsession, a thought that won't seem to settle no matter how many hours you put into it. Moments through the week that drive you to distraction. He runs a gloved hand through his hair and you wonder what it would feel like in yours, if it would catch, if he would pull, if he could want you enough to take a handful and move your mouth where he wanted it. You’d slipped slightly on the ice as the two of you trekked across the village the other day, head in the clouds as usual, and his firm hand on your elbow stabilized you before you even registered what was happening. "Careful, detective" he had said, your backwards tilt bringing you close enough to him that you could feel his breath as he spoke. You thanked him in a rush, dusting yourself off to try and hide your flush but you  _ fixated  _ on the strength in that hold, the warmth of his breath, how much you wanted to feel it again, wanted it to be purposeful, wanted him to speak like that into your ear as he takes you apart piece by piece.

Your mind is awash with sleep-muddled desire, warm breath and warmer skin, visions of what Kim would look like while you were giving him pleasure, how he might sound if you could kiss him senseless, what he might say if you admitted how much you wanted him.

Your hand migrates naturally south, and you apply a slow rolling pressure with your palm, letting out a soft groan, already half hard.

The case. Kim. There are things, things you need to remember that aren't tied to your libido, you tense in realization. But in your little run down shack on the coast, you realize that the comforting white noise that lulled you into such an easy sleep is that of pouring rain on the roof. Coming down hard enough that it’s a steady buzz of noise, not perceptible as individual raindrops.

You can relax. No one would make the long walk from the Whirling to the shack in a torrent like this, not even Kim. The case can wait a little while, until it clears, at which point you're sure Kim will be at the door punctual as always. The weather has granted you a reprieve, a slow morning to work out this sexual tension enough to hopefully get through a day of case cracking with your partner that  _ doesn't  _ include getting distracted staring at his mouth every time he talks. 

Having made the choice to indulge you push down the briefs you were sleeping in, letting your legs fall further open, sinking back and opening yourself up to every sensation you can give yourself as you let your mind wander once again. It's freeing being here, not worrying about Kim next door in the Whirling - no need to hold in the satisfied groans as you work yourself to full hardness, finding a rhythm and pressure on the right side of teasing, pulling aside the blankets to give yourself more room to work and hissing appreciatively at the contrast of the cool air suddenly on your hot skin.

You are mid moan, really getting into it, one hand working steadily at your cock while the other teases along your chest, when there is a knock at the door - so unexpected that everything seems to freeze, surely this can't be happening.

"Harry?" Oh god, oh god it's Kim, is this really, you idiot you need to SAY SOMETHING or DO SOMETHING what - but too soon the door is opening, bringing a wash of freezing air and rain with it, as Lieutenant Kitsuragi in the soaking flesh steps through your door, wiping at his glasses.

"Ah, apologies for letting myself in, but it's really coming down out there" he says apologetically, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and drying his glasses enough to return them to his face -

and then staring

staring at you

oh god harry you haven't moved have you, you've been just... frozen

with your cock in your hands 

this can't be happening 

(you are either going to die... or... no probably you're doing to die)

The moment stretches longer than you expected. It has been a while since you've really shocked Kim, you got most of the nastiness out of the way quick. This has maybe done it.

(but he's not looking away, is he?)

"Am I interrupting something?" He finally offers, dry and judgmental. But... is there a quaver? Are you imagining it, what you want to hear? But he really  _ isn't  _ quite looking away is he, his gaze has  _ lingered _ , you're hyper aware of it and don't miss the way that his eyes travel from your face and down along your whole body, leaving you feeling absolutely exposed in every sense, before coming back to your face.

Play it cool Harry. Maybe you can save this. Maybe this can be *great*. 

"Nah," you respond, choked. Not exactly an offering of good wit sire. But it isn't a rebuke, and Kim still hasn't fled, so that's a win.

"Khm. Well I'm not going to stand out in the rain while you..." Kim trails off and gestures vaguely - he's aiming for annoyed but is too blatantly distracted to actually get there. Uncomfortable with the situation, unsure how to read it, you have to actually pull your weight here Harry - 

"You don't have to go. You could stay."

Kim freezes. He clearly didn't expect you to say it. Calculating quickly, adjusting to the situation, always so quick to find his footing.. "So do you plan on making yourself decent then?" A final appeal to professionalism. Not going to risk misreading.

"What if maybe I  _ don't  _ do that?" God is that the best you can do Harry. It doesn't even sound suggestive so much as strained. 

"Is that what you would like?" Kim’s tone is… unreadable. Do you really need to answer? Surely you've made it clear enough, is this him giving you an out? Are you fucking this up? The one good thing going in your miserable life right now Harry, and you're gonna fuck it up for what, some exhibitionism? 

"I'm so-" you start to apologize, face flushing with embarrassment and regret on top of the arousal, when Kim lifts a single gloved hand in a 'halt' gesture that you jump to obey, jaw snapping shut with a click.

Finally, his unreadable expression breaks a little, a smirk growing on his features as he shakes his head a bit - "of course you would... you're  _ shameless _ " he pronounces, his voice going low in a way that sends a shiver through your whole body. Harry you crazy bastard, this might really be happening, did you actually pull this off? With  _ that  _ utter lack of rhetoric? He must  _ really  _ **_actually_ ** like you because you did  _ not  _ do yourself any favours.

He pulls off his gloves, a soft squeak of leather, stepping over and setting them delicately and precisely down on the end table. He's closer now. Looking right at you, his hand going to the zipper of his bomber jacket. Pulling it down to reveal the white undershirt beneath - his collar evidently was too loose to keep out the rain on the walk over and there is a V of sodden fabric spread down his chest, his collarbone highlighted by clinging fabric. Your mouth is dry.

"Well? Don't let me keep you," he comments, throwing his jacket over a chair, raising an eyebrow pointedly at where your hand is still wrapped around your cock, immobile.

You still hesitate a moment - is this really a line you’re crossing, god there is a tension to savour here, that gut clench of weightlessness before a fall - but you've never been one to defer pleasure for long have you Harry, and with a hitching groan you begin to move again, a long firm slow stroke.

Showing off a little, aren't you. Putting on a bit of a show. How could you not - with Kim leaned coolly against the table, looking at you with such focus. 

You let yourself stare blatantly for once, at his face, at his mouth, at his chest as he peels off his sodden undershirt and pulls it over his head. 

Your hand instinctively tightens a bit at the sight of him half undressed and before you can even think to hold it in you're  _ moaning _ , eyes fluttering shut briefly at the pleasure of it - and oh, you're thankful for your keen hearing, because Kim's breath hitches and it's the most arousing thing you think you've ever heard in your life. 

You need more of that. Need to provoke that in him. You'll show him shameless. Your other hand trails across your chest, pinching a nipple, arching your back into it, struggling all the while to keep your eyes directly on Kim.

You can see the pace of his breathing quickening, see his chest rise and fall, his gaze darkening, and knowing you're having that effect on him is overwhelming. You want to drink in his gaze until you drown in it. You're so lost in the feeling of it, in taking that sensation and turning it into mindless motion, that it catches you entirely by surprise when Kim speaks. 

"God, look at you." His voice... it already featured heavily in your dreams but never have you had the privilege of hearing it like this, low and rough and just for you. You can't even bring yourself to answer with anything but a whine, a speeding up of the rhythm of your hand along your cock, biting at your lip. 

He is coming closer now, right next to you, leaning over the bed, so close he could touch - but not touching. Still watching.

"You're desperate aren't you Harry?" he asks. 

"Yes, Kim, yes," you pant out, no filter left between thought and action. 

"Is this for me? Does it feel good, to touch yourself for me?" His hand is by your face now, so close, almost caressing, a barrier of air in between but so thin that it's buzzing. 

"Yes, Kim, it's for you, it's all for you, want you to see, want to show you," you're babbling now, approaching tears, trembling with the sensation and with the tension between having him so close but still being deprived his touch, of being trapped under his gaze and so lost in the moment that you're helpless to take anything more than whatever he will give you.

Finally, his hand makes contact with your face, threading into the hair along your jaw, his thumb brushing up along your lip to the edge of your gasping mouth. It anchors and it burns, it’s cold but it’s hot, you can't take it and you don't want it to end, your eyes flicker back into fuller focus with the sensation and you notice that Kim's other hand is between his legs, stroking his cock through the fabric of his pants, and god you can't - you can't - "Come for me, Harry" Kim whispers in your ear and *oh*

it's 

it's so much 

it's an oblivion, a blankness, a total overload, a taste of the nothingness

but it is *good*

You want to let yourself fully drift away in it but you fight to hold on, the sound of Kim's ragged breath pulling you back, a  _ need  _ to be back in this moment, to reciprocate. You force your focus back into the world enough to take it in, his face against your neck, half crawled on top of you on the bed, working at himself in earnest now, pants undone and hanging low. You bring up your hand, tilting his head while you turn yours to finally meet his lips in a panting kiss, your chest heaving to make up for the halt in breathing moments ago and his trembling with still building tension. You encourage him fully onto the bed, over top of you, reaching down to replace his hand with your own, still slick with your own release. The sounds he's making are glorious, both of you together, desperately seeking air while still swallowing moans.

In no time at all you can feel his muscles tensing, and he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, making desperate eye contact as he shudders and comes apart under your hands. It’s  _ divine _ .

And then there is just breath, and rain. He is shivering, from aftershocks or from the damp it’s hard to say. Luckily you’ve always been a furnace and wrap your arms securely around him, thrumming with pleasure as he nuzzles himself comfortably against your chest without hesitation. You know that soon you’ll have to move, to clean yourselves up at the least. There’s still a case to solve. Still words that should probably be put to this thing you’ve found with each other. But for now, there is just him, and you, and the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the Disco(rd) Elysium community for being so friendly and encouraging, and to everyone who gave this an early read to assure me that it was worth sharing and not just late night ravings <3
> 
> THANK YOU to Coolant for the wonderful fan art which you can find here!!!  
> https://twitter.com/coolant6969/status/1248080567100465152


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